Heavenly feet, heavy father.
The clock ticks slowly as if
It’s waiting to be corrected
By that old man with a scythe
Who holds the new year baby
In his free arm.

The ghost of childhood
Christmases waits by the window
In the form of VHS tapes recorded
By my dad. In them, there’s me with
My tiny toes and tongue that’s too big
For my mouth.

I can attribute the shaking
Of the camera to my dad’s hands.
He’s always been a recorder, one
Who rarely lets my younger self be lost
To the passage of time. In the video,
His faceless voice calls out my name.

Hidden behind the camera, my young
Father has not yet been told by his doctor
To change his diet or else, not yet been
Weighed down by the side effects of two more
Decades. He calls out my name and little
Me turns with the North Star still in her eye.

The sound of my youthful screaming
(Always loud, always there) now drowns
Out the journey of the clock hands
On the mantle. God, I was so small
Once. I wish I could remember
Seeing the world from down there.

My parents wish I hadn’t grown
So quickly and now it’s time
To change the tape again. Three
Wise men stand outside, their palms
Facing the sky and holding golden
Leaves leftover from autumn.

The next tape shows an older me,
Now a big sister but still yelling
Like the happiest madwoman
You’ve ever seen. The new baby
In the corner lies there while I
Look in wonder at this little life.

The new video also features
The ticking of the grandfather
Clock we once had, and its
Own ticks fill up the silence
Of the younger clock. Father
Time is telling me he’s still here

Through this angel choir that
My ears cannot ignore.

—Published 5th of March 2025

About Rebecca Arabian